


i was gonna die young (now i gotta wait for you honey)

by bmvagawood



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caleb centric bc im a stan, Character Study, M/M, Spoilers yall so no one yell at me, canon is not shot but mildly stabbed in a backalley, pretty Soft but its also calebs pov so ya know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 05:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16947894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bmvagawood/pseuds/bmvagawood
Summary: The only reason Caleb Widogast didn’t die young was because his life has not been his own since the night he broke. He survives purely to correct his mistake and would gladly give his life to do so if that is the cost.Then Mollymauk Tealeaf has to go and fuck him up.





	i was gonna die young (now i gotta wait for you honey)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theorangewitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theorangewitch/gifts).



Caleb knows that if reversing his mistakes hadn’t been his sole mission in life, he would have been dead the moment he stepped out of the asylum. He would have been dead the second his memories hit all at once, the screams and fire prying at his mind with scorching claws. Caleb would’ve crumpled to the ground, left to be found by the pursuing guards either shivering or in flames. But he knew that only he would have the drive to save his parents, to make it so he had never spoken to Trent fucking Ikithon. So Caleb didn’t die; instead, he vanished into the forest because he needed to stay alive.

Becoming part of the Mighty Nein is loosely what he had intended, but something in Caleb feels it was inevitable. They’re a motley group of strangers who work because of how fucked up they each were. Sure, it’s a sliding scale with Caleb and Nott probably taking the furthest end, but still, they are a brand of weird that turn heads and invite judgement.

At first, that made Caleb nervous. His skin beneath all the dirt and grime itched as Jester and Molly skipped around as blurs of color and noise. Fjord and Beau attracted attention for opposite reasons: one was too charming to miss and the other too blunt to avoid. Yasha, when she was around, was a walking pillar of blindingly pale muscle and intimidation. Attention had always been the equivalent of poison to Caleb, paranoia taking hostage his logic as it worried Ikithon was just around the corner or buying fruit right next to them. Logic had its own worries as well, beggars were often treated as if invisible until someone wanted a target for their anger. So Caleb often skirted around crowds, hid with Nott in the shadows, or stayed comfy in an inn with a book.

Then time proved that while he may find danger more often with the Mighty Nein, he also has a much greater chance at survival and profit. Caleb has Beau, Yasha, and Molly who leap into combat and draw attention away from the more fragile members. Caleb has Fjord and Jester who keeps him up with reassuring words and cheerful healing respectfully. Caleb has Nott who always has an eye out for him.

It isn’t until about a month in that he realizes his nightmares had stopped. Of course, he realizes it by being surprised with one.

Caleb is suddenly a near two decades younger, burning hands pressing against wood, smoke filling his lungs, screams ringing in his ears. It feels real and the pain grips him so viciously that he shatters all over again without the padding of expecting it.

He wakes up gasping, seeing fire, and inhaling smoke. He’s 17 again as he chokes on a strangled noise and tries to run, but a weight holds him down. _Ikithon_ , his mind cries, _failure disgrace useless_. But the fire vanishes from sight when purple becomes his view instead, a lavender scent replacing the smoke. Caleb takes in breaths that shakes his entire body; when his heartbeat calms and stops echoing in his ears, he finally recognizes Molly’s voice. Molly’s hand rubs Caleb’s back, body curling forward to shield him from the rest of the world. Ikithon had never done that, fire had never done that.

“You’re okay. We’re all here and safe. _You’re_ safe. It was just a dream and you’re awake now,” the steady mantra mutters like a bubbling brook. 33 year old Caleb would have pulled away the moment he recognized Molly and left to calm down on his own. His mind, however, is stuck in the past as a lost and afraid teenage Caleb. So he slumps onto Molly’s shoulder and breathes in the signature lavender mixed with earth and sweat. He’s warm like a fire, but without the flame and pain, and Caleb curls into him. Molly accepts him easily, speaking softly until Caleb drifts again, safe and content.

Perhaps the feelings may have started then, sometime between the warmth and the darkness where Caleb had allowed Molly to coddle him, to pick up his broken glass pieces. But Caleb likes to think his heart had truly been moved that morning when he wakes up alone.

It startles him and, for a second, fear resurging like an unseen assassin poised ready to strike. Then Caleb sees the coat stretched over him and his thin blanket, its arms sprawled on either side as if embracing him. Caleb flushes terribly and hears his heartbeat pounding away for a much different reason than before. He traces the various fabrics and embroidering, and concedes that Mollymauk knows him much better than he had originally thought.

Liking someone and trusting someone are not dependent on each other. Caleb _likes_ Mollymauk. He’s fun, bright, and lively. He’s a rainbow after a storm. He’s Hupperdook’s fiery explosions lighting up the night sky in blinding colors and flare. Molly is too much and that is why Caleb doesn’t trust him. He doesn’t trust that easy smile and infinite kindness because Caleb knows nothing is free, his whole life has been an example of that very lesson. Everything has its price and Molly must have the steepest one of all.

Yet breakfast passes with no issue and Molly accepts his coat and Caleb’s quiet thanks with a sly wink and quick pat on the shoulder. Nobody is the wiser, no strange glances at Caleb’s direction except Nott’s at his stiff back. He relaxes by noon and sits next to Molly in the cart as they hit the road again. Molly talks all about his cards and laughs at Caleb’s skeptical questions and looks. He never presses Caleb’s no at a reading and instead shouts ones at the others. Beau is adamant that the cards cannot tell her love life, while Molly stubborns waves the Tower card at her.

It’s the first day Caleb doesn’t think once about fire, screams, and dirt. He laughs when Jester asks Beau if her love life needs reviving and Beau’s flipping him and Molly off. His dreams that night are dotted by lavender and accompanied by the shuffle of cards.

=>

“Much too prepared for a quick bathroom break, aren’t ya?” Caleb’s body freezes at the voice before his mind fully registers it and he curses his idiotic heart.

It has been a bad day. An exhaustive fight with a hydra left everyone more cut and bruise than skin. Jester was stuck healing the whole battle since the heads were quick, all striking fast and at whoever they could reach. Yasha and Molly managed to behead the last two simultaneously while Nott was cradled unconscious but stable in Jester’s arms. Beau leaned on Caleb for support and almost knocked them both into the swamp when she pitched forward after Yasha collapsed. Luckily Caleb’s pained wheeze had stopped her dead and they watched Jester dump the last of her spells to get Yasha awake again, the tiefling stumbling before Fjord steadied her after returning from searching the body.

The town’s gold felt much too light after near-death and no treasure was in the body besides its weird crocodile-serpent skin. Caleb watched the more injured be left passed out on their bed rolls and Jester blearily look over each one last time before crawling into her own roll. He took first watch, mouth pressed into a thin line as he refused Molly and Fjord’s offers to join him.

Frumpkin had been given his job the moment the two went still, in favor of Caleb quietly gathering his things. There wasn’t terribly much to begin with as he tends to travel light, but he did leave a very familiar glove. He had debated for a moment, staring back and forth between the leather and his sleeping allies, before hiding it near Fjord. The rustling of his coat had never sounded louder in the quiet night and amid the snores. He woke Fjord the moment his watch finished, refusing to let himself smile at how the half orc squinted like Caleb personally offended him before rising with muffled curses.

Caleb thought he was fairly stealthy with how he feigned sleep until he was sure Fjord was turned away and busy tending the fire before moving up and out. He made it about 30 feet into the forest, bag slung over his shoulder, before Molly ensnared him with only his words. The worst part of it all was how they lacked any _real_ magic in them.

Caleb sighs and turns to face him, cringing instantly at the utter blankness on Molly’s face. No smile, no warmth. Just a pair of piercing red eyes. Frumpkin presses into his neck from where he’s draped, responding to the sharp _something_ that spikes in him at seeing that expression.

“Where are you going?” Molly stalks forward, his coat gone and a single sword - _Summer’s Dance,_  his mind supplies - hanging by his side. Caleb wants to step back, the logical part of his brain demanding him to run. But he also knows why he wanted to leave when nobody was looking, knows that he was trapped. Molly stops two feet away, all sharp angles and simmering anger.

“I-” Caleb’s throat chokes on the word, dry and aching suddenly, “I don’t know.” The map should be there at the forefront of his mind; _Alfield Zadash Hupperdook_ a city - any of those cities - should have been his answer. But Caleb’s mind is so flooded by the scent of lavender and the phantom sensation of warm arms around him that his answer came out raw and quiet.

Molly’s face softens, sharp eyebrows furrowing and red eyes no longer piercing. The tiefling steps forward and this time, Caleb doesn’t want to flee. Especially when Molly asks, gentle and just inches away, “Why are you leaving, dear?”

“...Today was bad,” Caleb says and looks down at his bandaged hands, “and I... I was afraid.” He knows he has said essentially nothing, but warm hands slowly take his. Sharp, painted nails scratches lightly along the bandages. Tattooed purple stark against pale white. Somewhere in Caleb’s mind remembers classic tales: the god of Death falling for the goddess of Life, man of waxed wings flying at the Sun.

“Were you afraid of dying?”

“Ja, but…” _That’s not it_ , his sentiment insists, _yes I need to live, but that’s not what I’m really scared of_. _Life escaping my hands, my wings melting._ But he can’t say it, he can’t.

Molly only squeezes Caleb’s hands until he looks up to see the smallest smile the tiefling has ever worn. It’s raw and vulnerable, a gift given warily to him. Caleb is at a loss at how he deserves it; the bag on his back feels much too heavy.

“Come back, darling,” Molly murmurs, the few baubles on his horns twinkling like laughter as he tilts his head back to the camp. “We need you.”

And Caleb wants to protest, to rip his hands away and hiss that Mollymauk Tealeaf would never need a bag of broken glass like Caleb Widogast. But he only stares at that smile, hears the brittle edge in those words, and nods. 

=>

With the Mighty Nein, time never seems to act how it should. Days stretch like months and months like years. Perhaps it’s that they only have each other, constantly side by side either in wagon, horse, or house. Perhaps it’s the many near death battles accelerating trust and affection past normal group standards. Secrets crop up like persistent, poisonous weeds, yet they all stay. Friends are stolen, friends are nearly lost, friends are rescued.

Molly and Caleb take the first watch since the group was whole again. They had thanked Caduceus Clay gravely and offered a spot in the Mighty Nein, but he had only smiled and said the time wasn’t right. It got Caleb thinking, wondering about fate and time.

He thinks about Molly lying limp in the snow and what might have happened if Beau hadn’t landed her stunning strike, if Slow hadn’t stuck as they all ran away with Keg hauling an unconscious tiefling. He thinks about Caduceus and Nila’s ignorance of the world that’s similar to a locked up Jester and an amnesiac Molly. He thinks of Keg’s bluntness that’s similar to an awkward Beau and an unsure Yasha. He wonders if there are people you can never keep and people you can never part from. He’s at a loss over which category his parents fall into, which the Mighty Nein falls into.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The amnesiac asks, smile brighter than it has been the past week. There are bruises and barely sealed wounds all over his skin, but Molly grins and everything feels fine. Caleb breathes.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” is what he answers, the raw honesty startling both of them. The image of a lavender tiefling motionless in the snow with a glaive poised for the killing blow is one Caleb wouldn’t forget. Just like the sight of his friends in chains and Nott cradling Jester’s unconscious body.

So he doesn’t take his words even though they burn in the following silence. Caleb fidgets with his diamond, missing Frumpkin so desperately it hurt. He wonders when Molly had enough power to reduce him to a stumbling fool and hates both himself and Molly for it.

But then a hand settles over Caleb’s, stilling both his heart and the diamond in place, and captures it in a loose hold. He chances a look at Molly’s face, finding a much smaller but softer smile aimed at him.

“Me too,” Molly says lowly, much like when he had asked Caleb to stay. Caleb remembers the fear in Molly’s eyes when they’d managed to stabilize him at their bare-bones camp. The same hand in his had seized Beau’s wrist, chipped nails digging in as Molly hissed and wheezed like he was suffocating before passing out again. Nila had shown up then and cast Healing Word, further inciting Caleb’s ponderings of fate. When he looks back at their friends, all curled up together and healing, Caleb wonders if destiny is what weaves them together or some twisted luck.

But he knows that he would likely never know for sure. So Caleb settles on staring at the dark field, squeezing the hand in his tight, and not letting go.

=>

The only reason Caleb Widogast didn’t die young was because his life has not been his own since the night he broke. He survives purely to correct his mistake and would gladly give his life to do so if that is the cost.

Then Mollymauk Tealeaf has to go and fuck him up. Molly has to go and show him the beauty of life in the smallest of good acts. He performs grand acrobatic shows to make children laugh and clap. He overpays and over-flirts to leave smiles and rosy cheeks at nearly every tavern and inn. He points out flowers to Yasha, throws cheesy insults at Beau, winks theatrically at Fjord, shares sly smiles with Nott, and dances merrily with Jester. Molly is life itself in how he views yesterday as gone, today as only, and tomorrow as hopefully.

And for all his vibrancy and volume, Molly is strikingly quiet with Caleb. He’s gentleness and secret laughter, a warm sunset. His touches are careful and light, calming and grounding. Sure, he still flirts and jokes because that’s Mollymauk Tealeaf, but it’s soft and joyous like a giggle. Mollymauk made it too incredibly easy to be swept up in him, to inhale lavender and see only purple and gold. Molly shows Caleb what it’s like to _hope_ again, which is the dangerous of all, and he could only wait for the other shoe to drop, for the price to catch up to him.

Maybe the cost is in Caleb’s hope to keep them all, to stay as a part of the Mighty Nein, to protect this new, strange family. His hope that Molly sees him as _Caleb_ , not a pile of shattered glass, and feels the same lightness in his stomach as Caleb does upon seeing his smile. Hope is always linked too closely with desire, something Caleb casted away the moment his memories had crashed into his mind. But he sees how Molly actively fights off his past. Molly is a peacock version of a phoenix and Caleb _wants._

Caleb is only supposed to want to fix his mistakes, to right his wrongs. At night, his happiness at being a member of the Mighty Nein freezes into icicles that pierce him. His hope erupts into a blazing fire that only consumes and burns. Caleb would then spend days in bookshops and libraries, nights pouring over his spell books and scavenged tomes. Caleb would run himself ragged until he either collapses or the Mighty Nein coaxes him away. The latter grows more and more common, each member finding a way to convince him to sleep and eat until he’s swept up in the joy and hope again. A vicious cycle that he has no idea how it’ll  end.

=>

They are nearly half a year together when Caleb decides to tell his tale. The war presses close enough for Yasha to tell hers, to explain her home, what it had done to her and her to it. A twisted part of Caleb, otherwise known as most of him, feels delighted in another sharing a similar past of mistakes and bloodied hands. However, the budding “good” part, cared for tenderly by his more altruistic friends, offers forth his firm, unshakable belief in Yasha, which is echoed by the group.

Of course, the name Trent Ikithon crops again in the following discussion of what to do next and pointed glances from both Beau _and_ Nott reaffirms him that it’s time or else they would be blindly walking into a set bomb. They could only avoid Rexxemtrum for so long and his care for them finally outweighs his fear.

Caleb tells his horrific story after dinner, over the campfire because he’s a masochist.

Nott and Beau are silent from knowing his whole past, pressed like guards on either of his sides. It’s a comfort he doesn’t deserve, an extra ache sitting heavy in his chest. Fjord and Yasha are as quiet as he had expected, gazes burning into his skin and he refuses to meet them otherwise he would lose the little nerve he has. Jester whispers a heartbroken “Caleb…” and tries to reach for him but is held back by Molly’s hand. He cannot hold back her voice, however, and with every choked noise and muffled sniff, Caleb’s certainty in not looking at her increases.

Molly, though, is surprisingly quiet the entire time. His few sounds melt into the gasps they all make when Caleb recounts the fire, the screams, his breaking, the false memory. Once Caleb finishes, silence is the only thing left in the air and he’s never been more aware of his own heartbeat.

“You were in an asylum,” Jester breaks the quiet like she always does, but her voice is small and eyes wet, “for eleven years?”

Caleb tries to give a confident _ja_ and not waver, but it crumples to a shuddering breath the moment he opens his mouth. So Caleb only nods and nods as pressure builds behind his eyes. The pressure bursts when blue arms are thrown around him and tugging until he’s brought into a tight, fierce hug. It feels so _nice,_  so familiar that Caleb falls apart in tears and presses his face into Jester’s shoulder; he can’t remember anyone but Nott and Molly holding him this close in years. Holding him like something worthy of protecting.

More arms find their way around the two. Nott’s familiar small ones encircle his waist as she huddles up to his side. Beau is second only due to her proxy, her wire arms around them just a few seconds before Molly makes his way in, lavender as calming to Caleb as the jewelry twinkling by his ear. Fjord and Yasha, not ones for overtly affection acts, each find a spot on Caleb’s back to press a firm hand. And much like that night with Molly months ago, Caleb allows himself to revel in the love that bubbles up in his chest and relax in the safety offered by his friends.

They talk after Caleb cries himself dry. They settle in a much closer circle than before with shoulders pressed against one another. Molly forces his way between Beau and Caleb, complaining that it’s _his_ turn now and she had her fill. Jester starts to pull a similar argument, but Nott needs no convincing and happily presses against her other side. Beau grumbles, yet is content in being by an amused Yasha, who welcomes her with a press of the shoulder. Fjord only shakes his head at them all and shares a wink with Jester before starting the talk.

It’s much easier to answer Fjord’s careful questions and admit his fears to the group with Molly right by him. Whenever there is a surge fear, a flash of an animalistic desire to run run and never look back, he simply leans to the side and Molly’s there with a warm brush of his hand and a tail curling loose around his waist.

Caleb makes it clear that they _not_ confront his past, at least not now. The Mighty Nein are stronger than when they had first scrambled together, but not on the same level as he knew Ikithon to be, Astrid and Eodwulf to be.

“You used to be pretty strong,” Yasha says,  the first thing she had in an hour, and he knows her well enough to pick up the silent question.

Caleb looks down at his hands, bandages clean from Beau’s insistence that they be changed at least every few days. “ _Ja,_  I- I was. Magic is much like physical strength.” He snaps his fingers to produce a small flame. “If you do not practice nor study for a while,” he lets the fire die, “it fades.

“I used to be a wizard of evocation, elemental magic, perfect soldier for serving the _Empire_ ,” Caleb’s words drip like venom and a light squeeze around his waist grounds him from the sudden rush of bitterness.

“What kind of wizard are you now?” Fjord asks, nearly successful in hiding the lilt of curiosity. Caleb would have smiled if dread hadn’t sank in his stomach. His goal, his single purpose that he’s allowed himself to forget yet again.

Caleb says softly, “Transmutation. Alteration magic.” _Bending reality, mutating the world to my will, twisting time and fate_ is what he keeps back. Caleb forces down the instinct to grimace and they either accept it easily or know to leave it alone, for they move on.

Unfortunately, the topic comes to Astrid and Eodwulf, particularly Astrid, which has the tail around him stiffening. Yet Jester is talking before Caleb can turn and question Molly, recounting his drunken slip of the name during their dance in Hupperdook.

Jester leans forward with a curled smile. “Do you still love her?” Her own tail swishes back and forth.

Fjord sighs, “ _Jester_ -”

But Caleb chuckles much to the surprise of everyone and somewhat himself. “I did. Both her and Eodwulf, if I am to be honest.”

Jester hollers a “wow, Caleb!” while Nott and Molly gasp. Beau and Fjord’s eyebrows both skyrocket, but they look rather impressed.

He laughs a little and waves his hands, “Not anymore. It has been many years and I have you all now.” That gets a watery _Caleeeeb_ from Nott and Jester, both of whom loudly assure him that they love him too. The tail around him curls tighter and the spade tip strokes the small of his back lightly, making him flush a little. Feeling brave and slightly drunk from all this love and acceptance, Caleb hooks his pinky around Molly’s and catches the soft smile stretch across the tiefling’s face.

The Mighty Nein talk well into the night, outlining what to watch out for and reaffirming that they are all in this together, past demons be damned. The group cuddle session proposed by Jester is shot down by an overwhelmed Caleb and a hesitant Yasha, but all the bed rolls are brought closer together than usual in the magical tiny hut. Molly’s tail releases Caleb from its hold while a squeeze on his pinky and a pointed look tells him that they have a bit to discuss later.

Caleb dreams that night of his parents. He dreams of their farmhouse and crowded kitchen, of one unremarkable dinner together at their well loved table. He dreams of his mother’s laughter and his father’s guffaw at some misadventure in young Caleb trying to care for the animals. It’s a surprisingly normal memory from his childhood, until his cat weaves around his ankles and he glances down to see piercing light eyes instead of lazy yellow. Caleb’s mother catches his hand, smiling gently, before he can force himself awake.

“It’s okay, Caleb,” Una assures, blue eyes staring, watery, studying as if it is the last time she would see him, “You can let us go.”

“Mother _,_ Father, I’m sorry,” he can’t help but whisper as he takes their hands and clenches. “I am so sorry.”

Leofric only squeezes back, rough voice filled with such love as he says, “We know and we forgive you.”

Caleb shakes his head, tears already falling down his face as he’s a grown man again, but feeling still so much like a child. He demands, his Zeminian cracking, “ _How?_ How could you possibly forgive me for what I’ve done?”

Una answers him easily, her free hand reaching over to cup his cheek, “Because we love you and you love us. We only want to see you happy again, Caleb. Please, forgive yourself,” she says as simply as one would say the sky is blue.

“You both deserved more time and I took that away,” Caleb sobs, peering desperately to find a glimmer of regret in their eyes. “I cannot forgive me.” There has to be a small flicker of anger at their horrible son for ever existing. Something just like the hatred burning a hole in his own stomach.

He finds none. Leofric lays a firm hand on Caleb’s head, fingers threading through his hair. “And you deserved not to have been made into a weapon. The past is the past and accepting it brings strength, my boy.” His father’s smile softens his weathered face; his mother’s brightens up her eyes, which put the candles around them to shame. “As long as you live, Caleb, we are happy. Forgive, my son.”

Caleb, with tears running down his face, does what he has been wishing to do for the past 16 years. He leaps out of his seat and wraps his mother in a crushing hug. The hand not clenched in her familiar worn cardigan reaches out for his father like a little boy many years ago did every evening when the door finally creaked open and his dad was home. Even as the scene bleeds away and his parents whispers their farewells into his hair, Caleb still feels the warmth of their arms around him.

Caleb is alone in the woods, his house a dark blob of color in the distance. The moon is his only light, but strangely brighter than he would have thought, perhaps because of clear night. Caleb takes a step towards his home when a childlike giggle startles him and he stumbles, which only intensifies it to a laugh. He spins to see an adolescent girl looking at him with the barest of smiles about 10 feet away.

The girl’s blue skin and trailing dress immediately remind Caleb of Jester, but the blue is much paler with dots of white freckles scattered across her round face. Her hair, a bright silver, curls so long that it vanishes behind her. Her dress is more Molly’s taste as it’s fitted and seems to shift between color spectrums; long sheer strips trail off her arms and the end of her dress, fluttering in a nonexistent breeze. But when he looks closer, he sees some of the strips were actually ribbons that stay in a certain gradient.

Caleb can distinguish seven unique ribbons, three tied on each arm and one held between her clasped hands. The furthest on her right arm is seafoam green with soft orange blending in from the edges. Next is one nearly solid deep blue with splashes of burgundy red like splattered blood. Tied around her wrist is a slate gray with random shocks of electric blue. The furthest on her left is deep green, nearly black with some dots of gold that glinted in the light. On her forearm is a ribbon pink enough to rot your teeth, darkening to a soft plum until disappearing as a forest green. Secured to her left wrist is a dusty brown with tendrils of amber just beginning to curl up the ribbon. Finally, in her hands is the most beautiful ribbon Caleb has ever seen. Woven through the bright purple base are flecks that reflect opalescent in the moonlight.

“Oh, you’ll be so jealous he met me first,” the girl says smugly to the ribbon in her hands. She then looks up again to address him, eyes the color of concentrated moonlight which he’s sure should have blinded him. “Hello, Caleb Widogast, I am the Moonweaver.” The name ignites memories in Caleb’s mind, images of Molly’s smile mouthing the syllables and scarred hands flipping over the Moon card.

Caleb’s throat dries up instantly as he knows he could never have possibly dreamt this, not even if he had tried. He bows and answers as steady as he can, “I am honored to be in your presence.”

The laugh rings out again, but it’s not unkind and, as he rises, he sees the smile on her face become more prominent. “A gentleman, even after all you have endured.” Caleb stiffens. But the goddess only continues, tone light as she releases a hand to grab the brown ribbon, “I am sure you are curious as to why I am here, Caleb Widogast, and the easy answer is because my follower cares a great deal for you.” Her other hand twirls the beautiful rainbow ribbon and suddenly, it connects. _That’s Molly?_

The Moonweaver smiles, freckles twinkling. “He always did say you were a smart man, if a very tragic one.” She then shifts the brown ribbon, _his_ own, and its scarce amber glints. “A man that is finally beginning to heal.” The amber curls just another inch up the ribbon like a growing vine scaling a tree. “You just need one last push and I am happy to answer my follower’s prayers.”

“He prayed… for me?” Caleb asks without thinking, caught up in the absurdity of it all and the sudden jolt in his heart when he thinks of Molly asking his goddess to help _him_.

She giggles like he had told her one of Nott’s awful jokes. “Yes, he had always seen great sorrow in you. Once he learned its context, my follower knew it was much too deep for their efforts to reach. Fortunately, the aid you required fell under my domain.”

After some confusion, Caleb manages to dig through his knowledge and recall her domain. At first, he’s furious as he remembers her as the goddess of illusions and misdirection. But then before Caleb could do something idiotic like shout or - _gods forbid -_ cry in front of a goddess, his brain supplies that she is often considered a deity of love, usually of secret trysts.

The Moonweaver only smiles, silver-white eyes looking past Caleb to his childhood home. “Love has many forms, Caleb Widogast, and you have much of it around you. It can heal you along with time, if you allow it.”

He looks at his hands, at the familiar ribbons in hers, at his home behind him. His voice wavers more than he would like, “Can I truly be fixed?”

“People cannot be fixed for they are not objects that can break,” she answers quickly, sternly. “People heal for they are living beings that can be hurt. Scars and memories remain, but fade with time and care.”

The Moonweaver moves for the first time since appearing, shadows shifting all around her. She walks closer, a contradiction of youth and wisdom. “I am here because love has changed you again, Caleb Widogast, for the better this time. Your love for my follower and your friends anchor you to the present, even as you attempt to move backward. Will you allow yourself to heal?”

Caleb knows the true question behind that. He knows what would it mean to let go of the past. He has thought for so long that the pain was deserved and needed to keep going. His goal is the puppeteer and he the puppet; yet if the strings are cut, then the puppet falls limp. Without his goal, then what would become of him? Who is Caleb without his pain?

But then Caleb thinks of Molly, of Nott, of Beau, of Yasha, of Jester, of Fjord. He thinks of every smile tossed his way, every hand clapped on his back, every hug awkward and not, every call of his name, every meal, every evening watch. He thinks of each time he was sure he was going to die and then he didn’t because there was someone rushing to protect him, to heal him with a word, touch, or potion. Caleb realizes that he isn’t alone, hasn’t been for a long time, which for once doesn’t scare him. They accept Caleb, trauma and all. They want to help him because they love him. They want him to be happy.

Caleb looks down at the Moonweaver’s smile, curved just like Molly’s: dimpled, a little unsettling, and beautiful. He smiles back. “Ja, I will.”

The goddess nods and sweeps out her hands, the ribbons fluttering before shifting to match her dress. All except one. She takes Molly’s ribbon back in hand, giggling to herself as she studies it.

The Moonweaver stares back up at him with her gleaming eyes, twinkling like Jester’s whenever she’s has a prank in mind. She remarks, amused, “Someone’s starting to get jealous of me. Wake, Caleb Widogast, and do give my love to my follower.”

Then the scene begins to give way to shadow and the Moonweaver turns her back, walks into the shadowing while humming a familiar tone.

Caleb jerks to a semi-consciousness, faintly registering hands on his shoulders shaking his entire body. He blinks the sleep from his eyes and whines miserably at the mistreatment, still trying to grip the idea of being helped by a goddess.

“Oh, he’s awake! Caleb, _Caleb_ , look at me,” a voice is saying much too loud and demanding. He whines again, trying to focus.

Another voice pushes its way in, exasperated and just as loud, “Molly, let the healer through and _stop_. Look at his angry eyebrows, he’s not happy with you shaking him around like that.” A cool hand cups his cheek and he presses into the touch, starting to wake up fully.

“Jester?” Caleb blinks again, seeing the young tiefling woman he had come to know well kneeling by his side. She waves with her free hand while the one on his face migrates to his forehead.

“Hi, Caleb! Hm, you don’t _look_ sick. Are you okay? Do you need a little healing because I’m ready to go, don’t even worry about it!” She’s just as chipper as before she had known his whole story and that just makes his heart swell even more. He reaches up to press his hand over the one on his forehead, beaming up at her.

“I’m fine, Jester. Wunderbar, even.” Jester’s shock is only evident in her second long hesitation before she pulls him into a tight hug, blabbering about how _he’s just the cutest, Nott, come look at your boy!_

Upright and only being slightly crushed, Caleb is able to see a hovering Molly, whose surprise at his demeanour is much more noticeable in how he studies Caleb intensely.

“Hallo, Mollymauk, I was told to pass you a hello and her love.” Caleb’s words only shocks him further. Molly’s mouth opens and closes multiple times while Jester pulls back, confused.

“Who is her? Did you have a dream about a _girl_ , Caleb? Oh no, did we interrupt a _really_ nice dream?” Jester is absolutely stricken at the thought. Molly’s cheeks turn a deep plum color and he glares up at the skies.

Caleb laughs, getting to his feet, and holds his hands out to the two tieflings. “Let’s talk over some breakfast, ja?”

Everyone is silent after him recounting his for a solid 2 seconds before chaos erupts. Caleb sits by the fire, him and Yasha eating their heated rations calmly while the Mighty Nein loses their shit.

“You’re telling me,” Beau is the first to yell something coherent, red faced and looking like she hasn’t decided whether to scream or laugh, “your trauma needed divine intervention and you fucking _got it?_ ” Nott’s yelling at the trees somewhere in the forest about how her boy is so amazing that a goddess spoke to him.

Molly shuffles his cards from where he has collapsed on the grass and is in the middle of performing the quickest, most frantic tarot card reading they’ve ever seen. Caleb watches, smirking a little when the tiefling flips three cards in rapid succession and promptly yells at them about something _not being bloody fair_.

Yasha speaks up then while eyeing Molly with a rare hint of mischief in her gaze, “Hey, isn’t the Moonweaver your goddess?” Her lips twitch with the barest definition of a smirk. Molly, flushing, catches it instantly and scowls at her. Caleb only chews his ration and enjoys the stand off while the rest of the Mighty Nein begin to rein themselves in.

“Yasha, dear, kindly _do not._ ”

“Caleeeeb, didn’t you say the Moonweaver is all about love?” Jester pipes up, pushing past everyone to hang off Yasha’s shoulders, “Is that why she came to you, because you needed love?”

Caleb holds out his hand, palm down, and shakes it. “Sort of. She said that I had love around me and I just uh-” he’s the one to go red this time, looking down at his shoes, “neglected it. I… I had thought caring for you all would slow me down.”

“You mentioned something about a plan when you told us your past,” Fjord interjects, brow furrowed, “Is that what you’re talking about?”

“Ja… I…” Caleb swallows, mind at war with itself over what to say, what to reveal. _Healing,_  one side whispers, _you promised to try._   _You can’t give up_ , the other half insists, _who will save them otherwise?_ “I want to reverse my mistakes and save my parents.” He laughs bitterly, loud in the silence he’s caused yet again. “The gods aren’t very fond of mortals twisting fate.”

There’s a resounding tension as the true depth of Caleb’s goal finally sinks in.

Beau looks at him from where she leans her weight onto her staff, face blank. “That’s what you’ve been looking for in the libraries.”

“You said you became a transmutation wizard… Shit, Caleb, you wanted to fuck with time itself,” Fjord mutters, more to himself, wide-eyed. Caleb only shrugs, staring at his bandaged hands and considering Fjord’s usage of past tense.

Molly surprises Caleb by going over and holding his arms gently while staring him in the eye. The eye contact itches for a second, but they have all broken through his walls enough that the itch passes quickly. Molly’s gaze is also not invasive, just gazing at him. “She showed you your parents telling you to let them go.” Although Molly tries to keep his tone soft, Caleb still feel the words hit harsh at his heart. “But are you ready to?”

Caleb had envied Molly for months after learning his story. Sometimes, when the nights were particularly terrible, he had wished to wake up the next morning without his memory. Would he become a man the Mighty Nein would like better? Would he become someone like Molly, who decides to make every town he visits better? Yet, Caleb woke up everyday with those years as detailed as ever, with the darkness heavy on his shoulders. So now, hearing that question from the person who believes the past is dead, Caleb feels that old resentment fester deep in his gut.

But it fades nearly as quick as it had risen, because he knows Molly. It has taken a long time to realize it, but Caleb knows these people, even with their mysteries and secrets. And they know him too; Molly knows how important past was to Caleb, even if he himself doesn’t understand. He looks at Caleb now, without his signature grin; his mouth is set in a line and his focus all on the human.

Caleb meets his gaze for a few moments, peering at the solid red that would have scared him decades ago, before seeking out the others. Jester had move to cling to Fjord and Beau, her arms looped around theirs, and she offers a sunny smile when noticed. Nott levels him a steady stare, one he knows well by now to say “I have your back no matter what”, but there’s something else there, a bright shiny thing in her yellow eyes. Fjord’s still reeling a bit, but he nods at him. Beau raises her eyebrows and has a quirk of a smile. Yasha gives a stoic thumbs up that makes Caleb smile.

Molly waits patiently as Caleb returns to looking at him, even if his legs must be burning from staying crouched so long. He wants to laugh at the thought, but everyone looked so serious, all for Caleb and his damned demons. So, he decides.

“Ja,” Caleb says, “it’s about time, I think.” He’s knocked down by an enthusiastic Jester and Nott, but he supposes it’s pretty worth it when Molly grins so wide his fangs show.

As they’re packing to get back on the road and everyone is distracted, Caleb captures Molly’s hand. Molly chuckles and laces their fingers together, winking. “It’s about time, Mr. Caleb.”

Caleb thinks about his parents for a moment, wondering if they’re looking down at him and saying the same thing. He smiles, studying the way Molly’s dimples crease his tattoo and how beautiful he is in the late morning sun. “Thank you for waiting, Mr. Mollymauk.”

In the back, Fjord and Beau are doing a terrible job at organizing the cart. Jester and Nott are sticking flowers into Yasha’s braid while she bends to let them.

And by the remains of the campfire, Caleb stands on his tiptoes to kiss Molly.

**Author's Note:**

> written for stella who asked for widomauk with that title! beta’d by her as well because she’s great
> 
> find me on tumblr at radiantword and if you like my stuff, keep an eye out because im nearly done with my other widomauk fic :3c


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